Love Triangles

I keep running into my teenage self this week.

I first reconnected with her after a parent-teacher group meeting to discuss my now teenage daughter's choir field trip. Micah and I were in the car heading home when she began talking about one of the girls at the meeting. She was the kind of pretty that people just stop to stare at—partially because she is so beautiful and partially because she doesn't know it yet. Micah tells me "Mom, she is the prettiest girl I've ever seen—except for you."

She said this without expecting anything in return. She stated it nonchalantly, matter-of-factly and so honestly that I wanted to pull the car over, make her get out and hug me on the side of the road. I bit my lip and dug my fingernails into the steering wheel instead.

It is only a matter of time, I'm sure, before I become old and fuddy-duddy. My clothes will not be right and my hair will not be "in style," but right now my daughter still thinks I'm pretty and maybe that shouldn't matter, but to me it does. In fact, that compliment may have been the best one I have ever received.

It made me think about my own views of my mother when I was a teenager. My mother was strict United Pentecostal. She wore no make-up, her hair in a poufy bun, dresses that came down past her knees with sleeves to her elbows. A fashion statement for her was colored panty hose. I didn't think my mother was pretty—she was too different from the other mothers.
Now, I see my mother as a beautiful woman. Her wardrobe is the same; her hairstyle is the same; her fashion sense is the same. I am the one who is different. I now look at my mother and see how clear, clean and pure her skin is. I look at her eyes and see the breath-taking blue made even more brilliant by the love that shines through. I see a woman with a figure that is a bit fuller than when I was a child, but is still feminine and enviable. And these are just her external attributes.

It makes me sad that I spent so much time not appreciating my mother's beauty because I equated sameness and attractiveness. But I am glad that maturity has brought wisdom and appreciation. I am thankful that I can see that beauty is enigmatic and subjective. It is spiritual and mental. It is how a person lives her life, loves others, and respects herself. I guess my grandmother was right: "pretty is as pretty does."